Tainted Love

by Jaimie Roberts

  I nod my head. “So for at least a week we can have some fun, huh?”

  He glances up at the boat, laughing. “Whether we’re sightseeing or sailing back home, being on this is going to feel like a holiday twenty-four-seven.”

  Guilt pangs my stomach. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it to sound like that.”

  He kisses me tenderly at the same time as trying to prop us up. “I know you didn’t, baby.”

  Another huge wave of water engulfs us, making us splutter. Chris releases me, cursing and looking towards the culprit. “Which one of you fuckers did that?” He pulls away, swimming towards the guys, each one of them swimming in opposite directions. I throw my head back, laughing at how comical they look. “Come on, own up, arseholes,” he grunts, swimming ferociously towards Kane. Laughing commences, and they all start throwing water at each other.

  Feeling a little colder now, I swim towards the ladder and climb up, watching a second as they play. A smile encases my lips as I save this mental image in my head. It’s a memory of the holiday I can take back with me.

  Once I’m on the boat, I grab the nearest towel I can find, drying myself off before sitting on the bench seat next to Michael. He’s gazing across the horizon, deep in thought.

  “Penny for them?” I ask, taking a plate and placing all sorts of delicious looking meats and pastries on it.

  Michael turns his head towards me, a small smile tilting his lips. “I’m just taking it all in, I guess.”

  “Why didn’t you bring Tarryn with you?”

  He leans forward, plucking up a piece of ham and putting in his mouth. “I told her it was an all-boys holiday.”

  I laugh. “Oh, shit. But it’s not, though.”

  He pulls down his sunglasses and winks at me. “I know.” He places them back on. “Don’t take offence when I snap some photographs of this holiday and you’re not in any.”

  “You little shit,” I snort, taking a bite of a sausage roll. “Surely she’s pissed that you’re here without her, though? Tarryn doesn’t sound like the sort of girl who’d be happy about you going without her. I mean, look at where we are,” I announce, waving my hand at the vast sea, the glorious sun, and the picturesque setting.

  “You’re right, she wasn’t happy. She mentioned that if I dare go to Puerto Banus without her, she’ll chop my dick off.”

  My eyes widen, making him laugh. “Okay, so no photos of me or Puerto Banus. Got it.”

  We both laugh together, but when I pop a sausage into my mouth all laughter stops. I know Michael is looking in my direction, but because he has sunglasses on, I have no idea which part of me he’s looking at.

  “You know, you and Chris have the most batshit crazy relationship I’ve ever seen.”

  A burst of laughter rumbles through me. Of all the things I thought he would say, that was the last.

  “Yeah, you could say our relationship is a bit unconventional.”

  To say the least!

  “He loves you like you’re the air he needs to breath. I envy that.”

  I frown, wondering where this is coming from. “Are you unhappy with Tarryn then? Is that what you’re trying to say?”

  He shrugs. “I’m not sure right now. I’m happy with what we’ve got, but if you were to ask me if I could see myself putting a ring on her finger and starting a family, I’d have to say no.”

  I chew on another sausage I’d placed in my mouth before speaking. “Do you think it’s wise then, dragging things out? What if she’s at that point now, oblivious to the fact that you never will be?”

  He sighs, raking a hand through his hair. “I suppose that’s why I needed this break—to get away and think about what it is I really want.”

  I nod, understanding more than anyone how that feels. I know my coming on this holiday was me effectively running away from all our shitty problems at home, but it also does present the opportunity for time to think.

  “Getting away is always an opportunity to unwind enough to enable you to see things more clearly. Being stuck in a rut doesn’t offer you that. I think what you’re doing is a good thing, but no matter what, you must ask her where she is in this relationship before you make your final decision. You never know, in her head she might be exactly where you are.”

  He grabs his beer off the table, taking a swig. “You’re right, of course, but something tells me she wants commitment. Whether it’s now or sometime soon into our future.” I’m about to respond that it’s important he finds this out when a voice halts me.

  “Are you going to wrap that towel round you, or am I going to have to lock you in our bedroom this whole fucking holiday?”

  I snap my head towards his voice, but he’s already sitting next to me, pulling me towards him, thus creating more distance between Michael and I. Subtle possessiveness, but it’s definitely there.

  “God, will you stop being such a caveman,” I retort, snuggling my body into his nonetheless.

  He grabs the towel from me, placing it over my body like a kimono, trapping me in place as he wraps it tightly, all the way to the top of my neck. “That’s better.”

  I roll my eyes towards Michael, making him laugh.

  “So what are you guys talking about?”

  “Tarryn,” I reply back.

  Chris shakes his head. “Man, that bitch is fucking crazy.”

  “Hey,” I snap, jabbing him in the stomach, making him hunch over.

  “Don’t worry about it, Bri,” Michael says. “He’s right.”

  They both laugh, clinking their beer bottles together. I shake my head and carry on eating my food in silence for a while.

  I sit, taking in my surroundings, half listening to Chris and Michael’s conversation while also half listening to the waves crashing against the boat. I’m at peace with the world, my shoulders instantly relaxing, all my troubles drifting away with the tide. I’m not stupid. I realise they will all be there once I return home, but for now, I sit, I relax, I eat, and I bask in the glorious sun. For tomorrow—as they say—is another day.

  My stomach flips every time I think about the fact that we’ll be starting our travel back to the UK in just two days’ time. Back to normal. Back to reality and my troubles catching up with me. Since being here, my phone has been switched off, my contact to the outside world completely cut, my head buried deep inside a sandpit.

  Most people would be loving life, but my mind is fucked, dark thoughts creeping in every chance it gets. Guilt rears its head once in a while too, making me want to act recklessly.

  That’s why, when I was getting ready to go out to a nightclub with all the guys earlier tonight, I knew going was a bad idea. So far, I had been enjoying the sun and sea, with plenty of food and drink, my actions had been tempered down, my thoughts kept tightly locked up in the fucked-up box in my head. I knew it was only a matter of time before that simmering pot would hit a boiling point.

  “What the fuck do you think you’re wearing?”

  My teeth clench, my nostrils flaring. I stop applying my eyeliner and turn to the six-foot-four monster currently glaring at me with his sharp, penetrating blue eyes.

  “They’re called clothes,” I all but growl back.

  Chris’s eyes scan my tight, red dress, the ending of which barely covers my arse. “That’s not clothes, I can see what you ate for breakfast this morning!”

  I roll my eyes then turn away from him, turning my attention back on my makeup and my attempt at making my light blue eyes pop. “It’s a nice dress that I picked up on sale. I have been keeping it in the wardrobe in hopes that one day I’d have the opportunity to wear it.”

  He scoffs. “We must have a fucking magical wardrobe, because all this shit you bought with you seems to have been plucked from thin air.”

  I narrow my eyes at him through the mirror. “Do you go through all my stuff at home or something?”

  Chris runs his hands through his hair, his body humming with frustration. “We do share the same house, you know.” When I ave
rt my eyes, he asks, “What the fuck’s gotten into you, Bri? Ever since the first day we got here you’ve been deliberately trying to bait me.”

  I finish my eyeliner, popping the lid on and placing it in my makeup bag, every movement forceful, every action showing my frustration. “The only thing I’m doing is wearing what I want to wear. Just because you don’t like it, doesn’t mean I’m baiting you. You are the one with the problem, not me.”

  His lips curl, and my stomach heats at the ticking time-bomb before me. I’m pressing all his buttons, and if I had to really admit it, deep down I am doing it deliberately. But by fuck, does it make me mad when he tries to dictate what I can and cannot wear.

  “I’m not going out with you dressed like a fucking prostitute.”

  He’s biting back, and I know he’s doing it deliberately, but it still doesn’t stop the anger bubbling in the pit of my stomach. “Well then, it looks like you will be going one way tonight and I another. I’m certainly not sitting in this boat on my own. I either go out like this with you, or I find my own form of entertainment for the evening. Simple as that.”

  Chris closes the distance between us, his fists balled at his sides. “Take the fucking dress off, Bri.”

  Lifting my finger up, I poke it into his chest. “No.”

  Grabbing me by my neck, Chris thumps me against the wall, our breathing ragged and heavy. He’s not applying pressure to my neck, not enough to strangle me. This is complete dominance on his behalf—and by fuck, does it secretly turn me on. Chris is more than aware of this, but he hates me pushing him to this point. My eyes widen with lust, but that dissipates the moment he takes his free hand and clamps it over the top half of my dress.

  “Don’t you fucking dare!” I sneer at him. If he rips my dress, I’ll kill him.

  His eyes dance excitedly with the challenge, and when his hand moves to tug at my dress, I’m about to scream blue bloody murder when there’s a loud rap at the door, interrupting us. “Come on, fuckers, we got to go!” Larry’s loud voice booms from the other side of the door.

  “You heard the man,” I pant at Chris, his eyes focusing back on me. There’s no denying the lust I feel as he penetrates me with those sharp, blue eyes of his. I’m conveying my message loud and clear without speaking a word.

  The door bangs again. “Come on, stop fucking like rabbits! Plenty of time for that once we get back.”

  “Fuck off!” Chris shouts back, resulting in laughter on the other side. Pervy fuckers are always trying to listen out for us having sex.

  Flittering my eyelashes at Chris, I say. “Go and keep them busy for a couple of minutes while I change. I’ll meet you up top.”

  His anger diminishing, Chris sighs his relief before a triumphant smirk reaches his lips. “I knew you’d see sense,” he responds, his hand dropping to his waist as he steps away. He strolls to the door, and just as he opens it, he says, “Don’t be too long, baby.”

  “I won’t,” I reply, giving him the best saccharine smile I can muster.

  Once he’s out the door, I straighten my dress, push up my cleavage, make sure my hair and makeup are in place, then walk out of the door. I make it up two steps before Larry clocks me. He’s like a wolfhound, sniffing out prey within an instant. When his eyes land on my dress, his devilish lips curve up knowing full well that shit’s about to hit the fan.

  “Fuck me, it’s the woman in red.” First, I was Princess Leia, now I’m the woman in red.

  All eyes turn to me within an instant, but the eyes I concentrate on are now boring into mine, his anger rolling off him in waves.

  “Good evening, boys,” I say, my smile wide, my hips doing the talking as I walk.

  As I get to the last step, all heads are turning to me then Chris. A ping-pong dance that would normally make me chuckle if it wasn’t for the fact that Chris is about to blow his top. But then he completely blows me away by simply puffing out some air and turning.

  “Let’s get to this fucking nightclub,” he growls under his breath as he strolls off.

  All the lads turn their heads to me, cheeky smirks on their faces. I note how they all look ready to impress tonight with their loose fitting, short-sleeved shirts in varying colours, pink being my favourite which Michael is currently sporting. I see that cargo shorts are also the name of the game. Even Chris is following the gang in a simple, light blue shirt and khaki shorts. They all look like football players out for a party on their night off.

  “You’re really trying to piss him off on this holiday, aren’t you?” Larry asks, coming up beside me as we walk off the boat.

  “I really don’t know what you mean,” I reply, my innocent smile making him laugh.

  I get to the end of the walkway, and a hand is immediately shoved in my face. I gaze up at his offering and decide to take it as I would actually like to get to this nightclub tonight. The moment I step on dry land, Chris hoists me tight to his body, his claim spelt out loud and clear to anyone who dares to look our way. And people do stare. Must be the “fuck off” body language Chris is currently trying to convey.

  Chris mumbles expletives under his breath, his hand tightening around my hip with every step. It’s a humid evening, but there’s a welcome, cool breeze hitting us every now and then from the sea. The marina is lit up with bars and restaurants filled with people eating, drinking, laughing, and even dancing. Spanish voices fill the air, their silky, Mediterranean tanned skin on full display. I would have felt out of place a few days ago with my previously pale tone, but having spent most of my time filled with nothing but sunbathing, I’ve managed to pick up quite the tan myself—hence another reason why Chris is so mad. My legs are bronzed, my hair highlighted from the sun. I look healthier and sexier than I ever have.

  We reach a car park area where there are waiting taxis, the whole way there, the lads—bar Michael and Chris, of course—leering at all the pretty ladies who walk by.

  “You three take that one,” Chris says, motioning to the taxi behind the one Chris, Michael, and I are standing by. Larry, Kane, and Andrew nod their heads, making their way to their taxi while we climb into ours, Chris’s arm still clasped tightly around me. Michael tells the taxi driver the name of the club we’re going to, and the driver immediately nods his head, thankfully knowing it.

  “So how do you know about this Funky Buddha club?” I ask Michael as the car pulls out from the kerb.

  “I asked a couple of locals at the marina, and they said it was one of the most popular, high-end clubs to go to.” I nod my head, noting the silent, brooding Chris staring out of the window. Michael smirks, and then his eyes dart towards Chris’s rigid hand clamped around my hip before his eyes travel down my legs. I knock my knee against his, causing a deep chuckle to leave his lips.

  “What’s so funny?” Chris asks, his attention now on Michael.

  Michael shakes his head. “Nothing, mate. Just some idiot acting stupid outside.”

  I roll my eyes at Michael, but Chris stays deathly silent. Hopefully once we’re in the club he’ll loosen up a bit.

  For the rest of the drive, I gaze out of the window at the night’s sky, the palm trees flashing by us, and the restaurants which are alive with people. Spain is always alive during the day, but it’s at night when they all seem to come out to congregate. The roads are busy with people trying to get to their destinations, the air thick with excitement of what the night might behold.

  Ten minutes pass by, then the taxi driver is pulling up to the nightclub. It seems small on the outside, but there’s a large queue trying to get in. I groan.

  “What’s up?” Michael asks, grabbing his handle to open the door.

  “Do you not see that line of people?” I point, making it clear.

  “That’s why we’re on the VIP list. We get to jump the queue.”

  Feeling more excited now, I climb out of the car with a still pissed off Chris quickly following after. I’m only released those few seconds before he clamps his arm around my hips again, pullin
g me forcefully to him.

  “Will you stop acting like a fucking ape?!” I whisper-hiss, causing him to growl.

  “You wear the fucking dress, you suffer the consequences. If you think I’m going to let you out of my sight until we’re back on the boat, you’re sorely mistaken.”

  I grumble but smile when I spot the rest of the boys getting out of the taxi behind us, their eyes immediately scanning the crowd. Already they’re on the prowl looking for girls. And there are plenty—with even shorter dresses than mine, I might add. Still, that doesn’t stop Chris from acting like the caveman he was born to be. I sometimes wonder how we got to here, but then all too soon, I remember.

  It was me.

  That dark thought threatens to engulf me, so I push it deep down inside and instead concentrate on the scene in front of me. All the guys, apart from Chris and Michael, continue their ogling of the girls in the queue as we pass them to approach the front of the line. I note some girls looking back, giggling with their friends. A couple of girls have their eyes fixed on Chris, so I bore holes into them until they notice, quickly averting their gaze.

  Michael shows the guys our VIP tickets, and we’re ushered in soon after. Now everyone is staring, wondering if we’re some kind of celebrities, no doubt.

  “How much were these VIP tickets, Michael?”

  He reluctantly averts his eyes away from the surroundings, the loud music currently blaring “Billie Jean” by Michael Jackson. “For entry and champagne, six grand.”

  My eyes all but bug out of my head, and I’m about to retort that six grand is a shit-ton of money when we walk in the most luxurious nightclub I have ever been to. Subtle lighting hits the plush, velvety sofas, making it feel warm and inviting. Curtains cascade down from high beams, and numerous buddhas are scattered around the edges of the club. Up high in the middle of the club is a banner reading, “Welcome to the 80’s.”